


beware the falling sky

by Myrime



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, Explosions, Family, Gen, Guilt, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt Ned Leeds, Hurt Peter Parker, Iron Dad, Protective Peter Parker, Self-Doubt, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 09:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: Peter has a headache that does not want to go away. Less an ache, really, than a feeling. Like something is just waiting for him to lose focus so it can stab him in the back.He is being silly, he just did not sleep. End of story.(Then, of course, someone tries to blow him up.)





	beware the falling sky

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Whumptober 2019](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/) Day 2: Explosion.
> 
> Enjoy.

Peter should have called in sick. He is saying that now in the safety of his mind, while he is navigating the halls of the school on shaky legs. As if he would have ever done the smart thing and admitted defeat when it is his own fault that he is aching all over. Maybe that will teach him not to meddle in things bigger than him and engage the kind of bad guys in fights that are definitely out of his league. He does not think so, but considering how he feels, he has hopes not to make the same mistake twice.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Ned asks from his side, frowning when Peter immediately tries to straighten. “You don’t look –”

“Ned, I’m fine,” Peter cuts him off. “I promise. It was a long night.”

At least half of that is true. It _was_ a long night. Long enough that he barely remembers how he made it home, or how he managed to sneak in through his window without alerting May.

“You’re limping,” Ned points out.

Looking at his feet, Peter realizes Ned is right. He already knew he had twisted his ankle the night before, but he is usually better at masking it.

“Give it a few hours,” Peter replies, more cheerful than he feels. He skipped breakfast in favour of spending more time in bed. Only now that is making him feel even worse.

“This is seriously awesome,” Ned says with that special enthusiasm he reserves for everything that separates Spider-Man from a baseline human. Then he grows serious again. “But perhaps you should go home.”

Peter shakes his head immediately. “I can’t.”

He was not supposed to go out last night. Karen has been sworn to secrecy, although she has only agreed reluctantly, considering that last night was a really close call and Peter is by no means sure he will not still be limping tonight. If he goes home early, the school will call May, and May will have questions Peter does not wants to answer. And if she thinks Peter is keeping things from him, she will call Mr. Stark, and Mr. Stark is not in the habit of taking no for an answer.

Also, Peter is almost out of web fluid. He was going to make more in Mr. Stark’s workshop, but he will have to avoid that until most of his wounds have healed. Karen might be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt sometimes, but FRIDAY will snitch him out to Mr. Stark the moment he steps into the foyer. He will have to use the school lab for now.

It is not a big deal. He has done so for long enough. He is just really not feeling well. His body is stitching itself back together. The bruises are pulsing, his broken ribs are itching. All of that is all right, but he has a headache that does not want to go away. Less an ache, really, than a feeling. Like something is just waiting for him to lose focus so it can stab him in the back.

He is being silly, he just did not sleep. End of story.

“You can take a nap in Physics. I’ll take notes for you. Although it’s not like you need them.” Ned has been talking for a while as Peter’s thoughts drifted off, but it appears as if Ned has decided to trust Peter for now.

Peter has done a lot of dumb and dangerous things in his life. He has been ungrateful and secretive. He does not like to see reason even in the face of overwhelming evidence that someone else might know what is good for him. Yet, Ned has never left him hanging.

“Thanks, man,” Peter says, bumping Ned’s shoulder with his own. He immediately has to swallow a whelp. He is sore all over.

Ned sighs, not happy but making due. “Just take care of yourself.”

Instead of making a promise he cannot possibly keep, Peter mutters something about his locker and limps off before Ned can stop him. He ignores the way his chest hurts, knowing it is not just because of his ribs.

* * *

The day appears to drag on endlessly. Peter does sleep through Physics and feels somewhat refreshed afterwards, but this is not something a short nap can fix.

After school is over, a few precious vials of new web fluid in his back, Peter and Ned are walking to the bus stop together. Peter is feeling much lighter now that his bed is getting closer with each step.

“So I thought we could have a Star Wars marathon this weekend,” Ned says, as enthusiastic as ever, making up for Peter simply shuffling on next to him. “My parents won’t be home, but I know they’ll leave me pizza money. It’ll be awesome.”

An entire weekend with Ned would be. Ever since Peter became Spider-Man, they are not nearly spending enough time together anymore, although it has gotten better since the secret is out.

“I’m busy with my internship on Friday,” Peter says, even though he will have to see how much of his body has fixed itself until then.

Ned knows that his ‘internship’ is mostly him working on secret projects with Mr. Stark himself, but Peter is always paranoid when they are out in the open.

“That leaves all of Saturday and Sunday.”

Which Peter often uses for patrol, but Peter will not mind sitting out a couple of days. He needs a break, and time with Ned always makes him feel better.

“I’d love to,” Peter says. Then he grins and stares Ned squarely in the face. “We’ll start with the prequels?”

The look of betrayal on Ned’s face is enough to make Peter burst out laughing. It hurts his ribs but is nonetheless the best he has felt all day. Of course, that is when they have to be interrupted.

“Hey, kid,” someone calls from behind them. It is an unfamiliar voice, slightly mocking. It has Peter’s hackles rising.

When Peter turns around, he sees a man with a scarf pulled over his nose and a hood drawn deep into his face. He has the feeling he is missing something. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something thrown at them from ahead. Peter’s senses scream.

“Pet-” Ned says, but at that point, Peter is already moving.

He is glancing at the object at their feet, which is looking innocently enough but blinks ominously. Not wasting any time, Peter grabs Ned’s arms and pushes forward, forcing them both into the mouth of an alleyway. They have not gotten far when the air around them is torn apart and Peter is at once blinded and deafened when something blows up.

A bomb, Peter’s mind pops up helpfully. His second thought is _Ned_. The blast pulls them apart no matter that Peter is trying to hold on. He scrambles for control but is thrown against something hard, feels his healing ribs groan under the pressure. The back of his head collides with the wall and he shuts his eyes against the pain, not knowing where is up and down, unable to make sense of anything that has happened.

He is Peter Parker. He was walking home with his best friend. Nobody has a reason to attack him. Nobody could _know_ to attack him. Except perhaps – the men from last night. The weapons deal Peter stumbled onto, the base he followed them back to and was subsequently jumped at in.

He did not win that fight by any means, but he got out. With how little he was himself last night, could he have noticed someone following him or slipping him a tracker? But that would mean –

Peter forces his eyes to open. His world has turned into a field of grey. Dust and soot are whirling in the air, pieces of wood and molten plastic are strewn on the ground before him. He cannot hear anything over the ringing in his ears, and his vision is hindered by the black creeping up from the edges.

Ned, he thinks and pushes himself upright despite the pain. His entire body feels aflame like he was torn apart and stitched back together wrong. He reaches automatically back for his suit, but his backpack must have been blown away by the force of the blast. His web slingers too are gone since he wanted to refill them first as soon as he got home. Peter only has himself. That has to be enough for now.

The first steps he takes are wobbly. It feels like the earth is shaking underneath him, but he puts one foot in front of the other. He still does not see very well. There is no immediate movement he can detect, which means they might not be attacked any further. It also means that Ned could be –

“Stop stalling, Parker,” he says, but does not hear it beyond an increase of the ringing in his head. He hopes he is not going to go deaf.

Steadying himself against a bent trash container, Peter looks around, trying to get a better sense of the situation. There is still nobody coming towards him. But there, a few feet away from him, half-buried under pieces of a fence, lies a shape.

“Ned,” Peter calls, feeling his throat protest against the strain. Then he is moving, faster than he would have thought possible with all the pain he is in.

It _is_ Ned, looking comically small covered in soot. He is not moving. A shock travels through Peter as he lets himself fall to the ground next to Ned.

“No, no, no,” he mutters, still not able to hear much beyond the ringing and his own panicked thoughts. “Don’t do that to me.”

He reaches for Ned’s shoulders, trying to remember what the first aid training Mr. Stark made him go through said about explosions. All he can remember, about all kinds of trauma, is to never move the victim too much in case of spinal fractures to avoid making things worse.

Ned is lying face down, though, and Peter needs to know whether he is breathing. The alternative would be – Allowing himself no second thoughts, Peter pushes at Ned’s body, turns him onto his back. Ned does not move, does not give any sign that he notices what is happening.

Holding his breath, Peter reaches out to feel for a pulse. Distantly, he sees that there is blood on his own hands, leaving a glistening crimson trail on Ned’s pale skin.

There, fluttering and barely palpable, is Ned’s pulse. A sob escapes Peter’s throat and he feels it with every fibre of his being. He does not think he could have lived with himself if he had gotten his best friend killed.

They need an ambulance. Ned needs a hospital, and Peter does not feel so good himself, although the pain has lessened immensely now that he knows Ned is alive. Just as importantly, he needs to talk to Mr. Stark, needs to inform him about the attack, about someone possibly knowing his identity. He needs to keep Ned safe until help arrives.

His watch. Help is within reach. Fighting against the dizziness, Peter rearranges his body so that he is shielding Ned from everything that might be coming for them and keeps his eyes on the mouth of the alley, still expecting the man and any possible accomplices to appear.

With shaking fingers, Peter reaches for the watch. It has a large crack down its display, which tells him that he is lucky to still be standing at all because it is meant to withstand large amounts of force. It is still working, though, to Peter’s great relief.

“Karen,” he gasps as soon as the interface is activated. He does hear his own voice now, although it is nothing more than a distant rumble. “We need help. Ned is hurt. There was an explosion.”

He cannot make out her answer, but the display blinks in what he hopes is an affirmative. Then, there is nothing more to do than to stand guard, and to hope he does not black out until help is here.

He makes it until the distorted sound of sirens pierces his muffled hearing. With a sigh, he lets go.

* * *

When Peter comes to, it is to the sterile white of a hospital room and the incessant beeping of a heart monitor. His first thought, before he even fully remembers what has happened, is relief at having gotten his hearing back.

Then he shoots upright, his mind filled with the memory of the man following them on their way home after school, the explosion, _Ned_. Wild-eyed, he looks around in the room, eyes jumping from his chart to the monitors at his side and finally to the bed a few feet away from his own, and the familiar shape inside it.

“Ned,” Peter breathes, staring until he catches the regular rising and falling of Ned’s ribcage, and hears the beeping of the second heart monitor. Ned is breathing on his own, is not in intensive care, looks like he could wake any second. Something unknots inside Peter’s chest, although the guilt he carries only intensifies.

When he moves his legs, intent on getting over to his friend because he still does not fully trust his eyes, he notices a red post-it note pinned to his blanket. He recognized the scrawl immediately, soothing even more of his worries.

_I would have gotten you a private room, but I thought you’d appreciate seeing your friend once you wake up. I took care of your problem. Call me when you are awake. Don’t do something this stupid ever again. -T.S._

Mr. Stark knows. He must have come, must have gotten them to the hospital. With the _problem_, Peter is sure, he means the men Peter angered and who followed him home. He is in Mr. Stark’s debt again, but for now, he does not have it in him to feel guilty for that too. Ned is alive. That is all that matters.

Taking care with his IV line and the monitor as to not alert the medical staff, Peter makes his way over to Ned’s bed. He is still somewhat dizzy, but he is already doing so much better.

“Ned,” he calls quietly when he makes it over, lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress because he is sure his legs will not carry him for much longer.

He should not try to wake Ned up but he cannot help himself. Ned’s hand lies on the blanket, a bandage travelling up until it disappears under the sleeve of the hospital gown. With utmost care, Peter picks up Ned’s hand and takes it between both of his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have noticed we were being followed. If had listened to you and gone home early, you would have never been in danger. I’m –”

_Supposed to be better_, lies on Peter’s tongue, but he never manages to say it because, in that moment, Ned’s fingers twitch. It does not feel like a coordinated motion but not like a creation of sleep either.

“Ned?” Peter asks, leaning forward to not miss any possible change.

Ned mumbles something inaudible, his muscles tensing the way they do when someone wakes up from a deep slumber. Peter finds himself holding his breath until Ned’s eyes open briefly, blinking against the blinding white of the room. 

“Ned, you’re awake.” Peter exhales with a sigh, so unbelievably relieved. “I’m so, so sorry. I should have known what was happening. I should have never put you in danger. I’m –”

“Peter,” Ned says, interrupting his rumbling. His voice is weak, barely audible against the beeping of the monitors and the thundering of Peter’s heart

He closes his eyes again, causing Peter to shift forward, clinging to Ned’s hand, afraid of his friend going somewhere he cannot follow.

“Don’t go back to sleep,” Peter pleads. He does not want to be left alone with his thoughts and his guilt that is now surging. “How are you feeling? Should I get a doctor?”

Ned blinks, but it is obvious he does it mostly for Peter’s benefit. It might not even be good to keep him awake, but in movies, everybody is always afraid of wounded people falling asleep. Of course, Ned should be out of immediate danger if he is here with Peter, in a regular looking hospital room.

“’M fine,” Ned says. It comes out slurred, but his lips twitch into something that might be an encouraging smile.

Peter feels only worse that Ned is still trying to cheer him up, despite Peter being the reason he even is in this situation. “I’m so sorry,” he says again, feeling like he is going to repeat these words a hundred more times if he is allowed to.

Squeezing Peter’s hands back, Ned appears to come more awake, groaning a bit when the pain hits.

“You should be,” he says, although still with that half-smile and without heat. “The last thing I heard was you telling me you wanted to watch the Star Wars prequels. That hurt more than the –” Ned’s speech has become livelier the more he said, but now he cuts himself off and takes the time to look down at himself and then at Peter. “Was there an explosion?”

Peter almost sobs with relief. He does not know anything about medical care, but this alone makes him believe that Ned will be all right. He has not gotten his best friend killed.

“It won’t happen again,” Peter promises because he will do his best to keep his friends safe from now on.

Ned’s eyes widen as if realization is only just hitting now. “You saved me from an explosion?”

Pressure on Peter’s throat makes it hard to swallow, let alone form words. He cannot let Ned think that he is not at fault here.

“I was the reason there _was_ an explosion,” Peter says, his voice thick with pent-up emotions.

Ned raises his head to better look at Peter, trailing his visible skin just like Peter has done with him earlier, cataloguing bruises. “Are you all right?” he then asks and means it.

Years of friendship and Ned still manages to take Peter by surprise, never reacting the way he is supposed to, never pushing Peter away even if it would be healthier to do so.

“Ned, I –” Peter tries to argue because he is not a hero in this, perhaps not ever, despite his best attempts.

“You got me out,” Ned cuts him off, sharp despite the way his lids are drooping. It is too soon for them to have a conversation like this, no matter that Peter wants to shower his best friend with apologies. “I know you’ll try to blame yourself. I think I won’t be able to stay awake through it.”

It must be the pain medication or simply the fact that Ned’s body needs sleep to heal. Much more so than Peter’s, which still feels like he has been through that explosion but that lets him walk around already.

“You need to rest,” Peter says, feeling selfish for having woken Ned and then keeping him awake.

“You too,” Ned mumbles, but he is already drifting off again. “Tell me everything later.”

Despite himself, Peter smiles. How does he deserve such a loyal friend? “I will.”

Peter watches as Ned falls back asleep, searches his face for signs of distress or pain. He knows the guilt will not go anywhere anytime soon, but he can have this for now. He can rest knowing that Ned will be fine.

Struggling to his feet, Peter gets back to his own feet. He is still tired too, and his entire body aches. Sleep sounds like the right idea. First, though, he needs to call Mr. Stark and explain what happened. Mostly, he needs to thank him for getting Ned and him out. For keeping an eye out for Peter, always.

He has never been gladder that he got to meet his hero. Perhaps that means that not all hope is lost where Peter is concerned.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
